


Building a Whole

by Naja_Moonshadow



Category: Firefly
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-15 14:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naja_Moonshadow/pseuds/Naja_Moonshadow
Summary: The ‘Verse is a funny place, big and confusing. Simon knows he’s lost in it, drifting from moment to moment. Sometimes, Jayne drifts in with him…





	1. Through a Slice of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Just little blips of interactions between two very disparate people. I really enjoy writing Jayne, he's one of my favorite characters and Simon a near perfect contrast for him.

     It was an accident, nothing more, nothing less. Simon had said entirely the wrong thing to Kaylee again, and she was mad at him _again._ He couldn’t even really remember what he’d said now, just that he’d known the second it had come out of his mouth that it was wrong. Her face had done that thing, the one where her glorious smile flattened like a disconnected heart-monitor. Her eyes, which had been shining like little stars, deadened and closed up their doors to him. Simon had known instantly that he’d said something bad, whatever it had been, but it was too late to take it back and she was gone, huffing away across the crowded room. Inara had witnessed the scene, eyes tightening in a little repressed smile that she thought others couldn’t see. But Simon could see it. His mother had smiled like that at him when she thought he was being particularly foolish.  
      And so he’d been alone again. Silly, prissy foolish Simon, who couldn’t seem to put a foot down right out here in the Black. Every word was the wrong one, every move just a little out of sync with the chaotic dance of the place. He had sat there on the bench where Kaylee had left him, watching the people in the bar like they were the waves of an ocean, until he’d gotten sick of feeling sorry for himself. The beer in his stomach—so fizzy feeling when Kaylee had been smiling at him—was beginning to take on a sour turn. He got up, pushing through the revelers in the too-loud bar towards the back stairs. The villagers of Altus had been feeling extra generous after their little rescue by Mal and company from a local vicious gang. Part of their meager generosity had been the offer of rooms upstairs for the night, though not everyone had taken up the offer. It was a hike back to the ship and Simon had been just as glad not to have to make it. River was safely tucked away on _Serenity_ with Zoe, Wash and Shepherd Book for evening and for once he didn’t need to worry over her too much. Zoe had a way with her that was kind of unique and Simon sometimes wondered if Zoe was using her as a kind of prep for having a child of her own. She’d been making little motions about fertility for a few months now, nothing overt but Simon noticed these things. It was his job after all. The only thing in the whole damn Universe he was good at. Only thing he’d ever been good at really.  
      He’d climbed the stairs to the second floor feeling exhausted and out of place, wishing that maybe just once he could understand _something;_ or even feel as if he _might_ understand something about this strange life in the Black. His universe had been so small once, so easily defined. The rules had been very clear, easily understood and unshakable. Just like with Kaylee just now, everything seemed to have a nasty habit of shifting from under his feet. He was perpetually out of balance. What worked and was fine one day, didn’t work at all the next. Simon paused at the top of the stairs, feeling momentarily dizzy with the weight of everything resting on his shoulders. River was just one very frail girl, but she felt so very heavy some days. Keeping them safe, keeping them hidden, keeping Mal happy, trying like hell to be _useful…_ h _e_ leaned his head against the wall, his neck too tired to keep it upright suddenly. Closing his eyes Simon wondered if the world was really spinning the way it felt it was, or if it was just the second drink Kaylee had talked him into.  
     With a heavy sigh he pushed off the wall and down the corridor. There weren’t many rooms up here. The bar was technically also the inn, which doubled as a shop during daylight hours. The town hadn't been very big, which was what had made it such an easy target for the raiders. None of the towns out here felt very big, even when they were. Altus was a sad representative of an equally sad whole. They were all equally squalid, equally ignorant and equally remote. For being all individuals, so far apart from each other, they were all oddly identical. Or maybe he only imagined that too. Everyone reminded him _daily_ that his perspective was somewhat biased by his upbringing. Sometimes he felt very alien, for all that he was human just like them.  
       An odd sound had distracted him from the dour whirl of his thoughts. Simon froze automatically, an instinctive reflex shared by small animals who heard a noise in the dark. Turning he'd realized he was standing in the slice of light that spilled from a doorway, open a wide crack. The doorway belonged to the room Jayne had taken. The crack, while only as wide as his palm, had given him an excellent view into the room and an equally excellent view of the occupants.  
      The bed was on the opposite wall of the room, kiddy-cornered so that the foot of the bed faced the door. Lamps stood in matching guardian attention on the tiny wooden end-tables to either side of the head of the bed, filling the room with a warm, almost surreal golden glow. It was the perfect lighting for the lovers on the bed.  
Simon recognized the boy. Well, ‘boy’ was a derogatory adjective he supposed, since the ‘boy’ was probably only a few years younger than himself. It had always struck Simon as odd that no matter how small a town, somehow there was always at least a passing selection of sex workers there. This town was no exception and this boy was one of them, a small group that had offered themselves up downstairs before the evening celebrations had begun. Simon hadn’t even seen Jayne leave with him.  
      Jayne himself was easily recognizable of course, a mountain of testosterone and muscle kneeling behind the boy. Jayne was holding him up on his knees and back against Jayne’s chest with the easy strength of someone who puts a lot of effort into their physique. He was fucking into the boy with easy, surging strokes, rocking them forward and the boy’s hands had latched on the ropey muscle of Jayne’s forearms, knuckles stark white.  
      Through a dreamy, dewy gold haze, Simon had contemplated the oddity that even though Jayne was the paying client, it looked as if the opposite was true. Jayne’s focus was entirely on his whore, expression intent and keen rather than pleasured, as if his partner was an instrument being played with intensity. By comparison the boy was trembling in his grasp, limp and supported entirely by Jayne’s embrace, clearly overwhelmed by the attention he was receiving. His face was lax, eyes nearly crossed in pleasure as Jayne screwed him, one hand giving lazy pumping tugs of the boy’s erection, Jayne’s mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses into his sweaty neck and murmuring something husky and indecipherable. The boy had kept making these soft, keening whines, pleas and praises in the same desperate tone. It was weirdly tender, Jayne’s strokes steady, gentle and measured as if he had all the time in the world to bring the boy to the edge, to take him apart with a delicacy that was in utter defiance to the brute Simon knew him to be. The boy’s skin shone in the lamplight, streaked with sweat and Simon could smell semen in the air; it was an acrid ache at the back of his tongue that said someone had already ejaculated, possibly several times. The air seemed thick somehow, heady almost, breathless.  
     The boy’s breaths sped up, panting on the heated air with none of the measured, calculated control of someone exaggerating their enjoyment. It was raw, striking, oddly surreal. Jayne tilted his head, whispering something and the boy nodded frantically, moaning. Jayne chuckled, switching his attentions to the other side of the boy’s neck, open-mouthed kisses trailing along overheated skin. It was very nearly sweet, loverly.  
      Simon must have moved or made a sound; Jayne’s gaze lifted from his whore to the doorway with laser-targeting. Simon knew he could be seen, realized a bowel-clenching moment of horror that snapped the oddly timeless moment he’d been stuck in. He'd expected Jayne to roar at him, to swear or leap up or grab a _gun—anything_ except to hold his gaze for a moment, then gently jerk his head to the left. A polite but firm _move on_. Simon moved.  
      His room was several doors down and he launched himself into it, shutting the door with a bang that they must have heard in Jayne’s room. He'd stood for several minutes, feeling a variety of things all at once, none of them distinguishable, let alone identifiable. His face was hot and he was shaking, but it wasn’t until he stripped out of his clothes that he realized he wasn’t just embarrassed or ashamed of his accidental voyeurism—he was aroused by what he’d seen.  
     What had lingered in his mind, even as he'd drifted into a strange and uncomfortable sort of sleep, was how disquieting it was that the boy had looked so much like him.


	2. Purposeful Not-Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon tries to forget what he saw on Altus. It doesn't go like he wants...

               Simon had not thought about what he saw on Altus. Well, he _had_ thought about it, but only in those spare moments when thought sneaks up on you unawares. He didn’t linger on the memories though, brushing them away as one would brush away annoying insects before they can bite you. They have left Altus a week behind them and whatever Simon may or may not have thought about Jayne fucking a boy who looks like him, it was behind them as well.

                It was easy to hold onto this opinion, easy to pretend that nothing at all unusual had happened, Simon could almost believe it was just a dream. Right up until the moment Simon realized that while he’d been busy checking his stock of antibiotics, Jayne had snuck up behind him.

                It was very late. River had been put to bed, curling up with Kaylee for the night. The sleepovers were new, but Kaylee seemed to enjoy them as much as River and as long as there wasn’t a fuss Simon didn’t object too strenuously. The new evening drug cocktail was working well and the previous sleepover had gone off uninterrupted, leaving Simon a little extra time in his evenings. Everyone had gone to bed some hours ago except Simon, who would never admit that having River where he couldn’t see her made him too nervous to sleep. He couldn’t admit, even to himself, that taking care of her had become his fundamental core, the reason he did _everything._ So he had gone to the infirmary, intent on keeping his hands busy until sleep came more easily and he didn’t have to think about how much of a not-person he’d become.

                Jayne was a big man, usually as loud as he was large and it was too easy to forget that he could be surprisingly silent when he chose. Simon didn’t hear a thing, fretting quietly over his antibiotics to avoid fretting over River, who was undoubtedly sleeping soundly next to Kaylee upstairs.

                Big hands settled onto the metal of his countertops on either side of his forearms, a heavy weight framing him in while also not-quite-touching him at his back. Simon stiffened, fear racing up his spine in cold fingers and he whipped his head around even as his nose told him who it was. Jayne’s hygiene was actually the best out of everyone except Inara and he always smelled like gun-oil and astringent cleanser.

                “What are you doing?” Simon snapped, feeling flushed with adrenaline and increasingly nervous about the startling proximity of a man who’d tried _really hard_ to kill him more than once. Jayne didn’t say anything, not one damn word but Simon _knew_ —in the space of a single heartbeat—precisely what he was doing.

                There was a suspension of time, a strange, strangulated moment where Simon couldn’t think or breathe around the shock that ran through him. He was poised, balanced just-so on a single realization that blanked out everything else. Jayne had somehow closed the door to the infirmary without Simon hearing him. They were closed in together.

                Simon remembered, unbidden, the image of Jayne fucking that boy. A bubble memory, encapsulated in embarrassment and discomfort, Jayne’s intent expression and the gentle, rhythmic pulses of his hips. Jayne’s body heat was like an oven, still not-quite-touching him. He couldn’t see the entirety of Jayne’s face from this angle even with his torso twisted, but he could see the intent way Jayne was looking down at him. That intensity made panic well up in his guts, realizing just how close to an unexpected edge he was walking. The door was closed. He was locked inside the infirmary, with Jayne. Jayne who had, less than eight days ago, been fucking a whore who looked a lot like Simon.

                “Wh—“ Simon’s voice broke painfully and he cleared his throat, “What do you want?” He demanded, or thought he did. He had never been afraid before like this, afraid the way a rabbit is afraid when a snake looks at it with hunger. He wasn’t sure Jayne would actually go so far as to rape him—he was pretty sure even Jayne wasn’t that stupid, not with Mal hanging over him, a noose ready for a hanging—but the trouble really was that he didn’t know _what_ Jayne _intended_ to do.

                “Been watchin’ me.” Jayne rumbled. It was low in his throat, three words that trembled in air, ringing in Simon’s ears as neither a question, nor an answer. Distant thunder seemed to rattle everything in the room, though Simon knew it was only his imagination. He stood stock still in Jayne’s presence and knew he couldn’t deny it. He _had_ been watching Jayne. Watching and intently not thinking. He should have realized sooner, or perhaps _acknowledged_ sooner, that Jayne would have seen him watching. Would have felt Simon’s eyes on him, might even have seen how Simon had stood just that afternoon in the cargo bay, ostensibly talking to Zoe but secretly watching Jayne at his weight bench. Jayne might have even seen what Simon himself hadn’t realized until he tried to walk away—breathless with embarrassment and _once again_ hard as stone in his trousers.

                He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t known what to do about it even when he’d made it back to the infirmary, humiliated and aroused and angry all at once. Angry with himself because he couldn’t explain what was happening, angry with Jayne because—well, because _Jayne_ —and inexplicably angry with River, because she was the reason he was out here in the first place, for which he’d felt immediately guilty. Guilt had kept him working all afternoon, soul-crushing and bruising like self-loathing because once again Simon had done something wrong, even if nobody else knew about it.

                Jayne’s body-heat was cloying, suffocating and Simon shifted forward just a little to escape and realized with a gut-punch of shame that he was hard again. The press of the counter’s edge against his belly, just above his groin, pulled his focus back into his body with disorienting completeness. He was suddenly and all-too-intensely aware of his arousal, the weight of it in his guts and the looming press of Jayne behind him. Jayne who undoubtedly—and inexplicably—knew Simon was hard.

                Jayne’s right hand lifted from the counter-top and Simon watched it, frozen in place by shame and indecision, as that big palm settled just above his navel, firm but gentle. The heat of the man was extraordinary and Simon’s breath sucked in sharply in response to the soft, sure touch. He was shaking, caught between two simultaneous and impulsive thoughts—the first being to shove Jayne away, to yell at him and maybe even strike out, and the second being to lean back into the solid wall of human-being behind him.

                He was breathing too hard. Simon could feel his lungs working as if he were winded, as if this stillness was a sprint uphill. Jayne’s hand shifted and Simon felt dizzy, watching the palm slide down over the buttons on his shirt, one by one. He knew where it was going. Words of denial rose in his throat, he could taste them in his mouth but he couldn’t give them voice. He couldn’t do _anything_ even as Jayne’s hand slid over his belt-buckle and that astonishing heat closed over his clothed erection. Simon choked on a strangled hiss, air leaving his lungs while his throat closed up tight and Jayne’s other arm was suddenly there, wrapping around his chest to hold him up when his knees gave out.

                “Easy Doc, easy….” Jayne’s voice was a thunderous base murmur, the words pressed into the skin below his right ear, the scratch of his beard a counterpoint to the tickles of overheated breath. Simon was pressed back against him now, held there by Jayne’s supporting arm and the heat was overwhelming. The palm over his groin moved slowly, a steady firm stroke that drove waves of sparks up Simon’s spine. Had it been so long since he was touched? Since he was held? Simon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex with anyone. He was very sure that every time though, it had been with a woman. Always women.

                It was not a woman now. There was no mistaking it. Simon gripped the edge of the counter, eyes closing against light that seemed too bright just then. Jayne’s mouth touched his neck, a wet tongue tracing small circles under his ear in counterpoint to the scrape of the goatee. The sheer strength of the man holding him up was impressive, daunting even and Simon’s shaking ramping steadily in counterpoint to the coil building in his guts. He was equal parts terrified and massively turned on; he wanted both more touch and less. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream for help or cum all over Jayne.

                His belt-buckle had been popped and his zipper was down before he’d even realized a sudden cessation to Jayne’s steady stroking. He stiffened, back arching in anxious anticipation even before warm callused fingers fished his prick from his underwear. He was leaking with excitement, cooler air like kisses along his swollen cock-head and he whimpered, one hand spastically reaching up to grip at Jayne’s massive forearm.

                “Just breath Doc…I got you.” Jayne’s unexpected reassurance was whispered into his ear, teeth nipping gently at the shell and the dual sensations made Simon’s head spin. His eyes opened, staring unseeing at the medicine cabinet in front of him until Jayne’s fist closed loosely around the ache in his groin and Simon’s eyes dropped impulsively to watch.

_Well, Jayne ain’t no girl_! The words bounced around in Simon’s head. No. Jayne wasn’t a girl. The hand that was gently running fingers along his erection was not a woman’s hand. Thick fingers, rough with use, nails blunted and bitten, a palm as wide as a plate and split with scars, all connected to a wrist as thick as Simon’s whole forearm. Simons’ breaths left him in rushing gusts and Jayne’s thumb rubbed firmly over his leaking slit, making pulses of ache spread up Simon’s cock and into his balls. _I got man parts_. Simon could hear Jayne’s voice in his memory. Jayne _did_ have man-parts. Simon could feel them now, pressed firmly into his lower back. Jayne was as hard as he was and somehow that didn’t dull Simon’s arousal at all. Jayne’s mouth was making slow, teasing passes along under his ear, warm breath chasing rough beard and wet tongue.

                Simon collapsed against Jayne when his grip finally, _finally_ tightened. It was dry and the friction was almost too much, but Jayne’s fist moved and Simon didn’t care about anything anymore. He _moaned_ , flushing hot and cold in embarrassment at the raw sound in his throat, his hips bucking forwards into Jayne’s fist and the pleasure drove another moan from him. Jayne held him up, one big thigh slipping between Simon’s limp legs to give the gigantic man a better grip. Friction, heat and weightlessness made Simon dizzy, panting, head lolled to the side to give Jayne access to whatever he wanted.

                “That’s it Doc…” Jayne whispered and Simon whimpered, flushed and damp with sweat as the man’s fist moved with sure, steady strokes. “Pretty as a picture…” Jayne murmured and Simon’s eyes rolled up, his orgasm building with blinding speed. He thought he must _really_ look that boy Jayne had fucked now, sweating and whimpering at the mercy of Jayne’s touch. The thought should have made him angry, or ashamed but instead he felt a hard rush of bitter longing. He _wanted_ to feel what that boy must have felt. Relaxed, in charge of nothing at all, fucked with a surgeon’s precision. It had been _so long_ since Simon had been touched by anyone, so long since he could feel _this_. Simon couldn’t have rightly said when the last time was that he’d even masturbated. Too much going on, River was always around, no time or space or privacy. It was as if Simon had forcibly forgotten about all of it, erased his needs from himself like one removes a misplaced pencil-stroke. Kaylee had teased the edges, soft and sweet and oh-so-wanting, building an ache like a deep infection; Jayne had lanced the wound like a scalpel and Simon was left bleeding and unable to stop the flow of relief he felt. “You’re close huh? S’good…” Simon _was_ close, teetering there, rocking in wanton little pulses into Jayne’s steady, dry strokes. His balls hurt with the need to cum, the edge of release near enough that tears leaked, unbidden, from his eyes.

 Jayne was all around him, his fist pulling Simon’s prick, his arms holding Simon up, his breath chasing liquid want down Simon’s neck and his cock pressing hard into Simon’s back. It was like being in a bathtub at home again, warm water all around, suspended, weightless, utterly content to simply _be_ where he was…Simon had forgotten how to felt, to just _be_. The realization itself was almost as good as the hand on his dick, as Jayne’s tongue tracing patterns over his throat and Simon realized the edge had _finally_ arrived.

                Simon’s breath caught in his throat and his limp muscles went rigid, eyes snapping closed as he arching back into Jayne’s grip. He was held, teetering, just _there_ …

                “Go’on then…” Jayne grunted into his neck and Simon’s orgasm snapped through him. It was unexpectedly violent, pulling him in half a dozen directions as he came, moaning loud enough to echo in the small space and bucking into Jayne. Simon sobbed, pulses of fluid pleasure shuddering up and down his spine, his cock kicking and spitting seed over Jayne’s hand and across the countertop. Jayne growled something, low and throbbing against his throat and Simon whined in response, overwhelmed and over stimulated.

                It was a moment before his thoughts coalesced again enough to sort through sensations. Jayne had let go of his prick, hand going to spread on the counter again, smearing cum across the formerly pristine surface. Simon’s eyes opened, blinking wearily. He was suddenly exhausted, thoroughly and truly worn out. Jayne gently leaned him forward and Simon went, almost reluctantly taking his own weight again, coming back down to earth literally and figuratively as the orgasmic high dissipated beneath the feeling of his feet on the floor. All at once he could smell his ejaculate, the astringent sting of it in his nose along with the musk of his own arousal and sweat. It felt…dirty. Jayne had backed up slightly, enough that Simon could turn to face him for the first time since the start of this whole encounter. Of course his eyes landed on Jayne’s groin first, drawn there against his will and he looked away quickly. Not before he saw the strain of Jayne’s prick against his zipper though, nor the large wet-spot that had spread with the intensity of Jayne’s arousal.

                He had no idea what to say. No excuse, though he felt as if he should _apologize_ somehow, as if this had all been his fault and he’d forced himself on Jayne. Simon’s hands shook as he put himself away, face turning hot and eyes burning angrily suddenly, humiliation hot in his guts. He didn’t know why he felt as if he’d done something wrong—he might never have been sexed by a man before, but Simon wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was anything like _wrong_ —and yet…he felt distinctly as if he’d just transgressed somehow.       

                “I…” Simon started and then startled when Jayne’s clean hand snapped up. Simon flinched automatically, expecting a blow but Jayne just brushed his mouth with two thick fingers in a weirdly gentle gesture.

                “Now don’ go and ruin it Doc, you just keep quiet.” Jayne sounded _amused_ , that smug smiling tone he used when he thought he was being clever about something. Simon’s face flushed darker at the rebuke, though he couldn’t deny it. He was always saying the wrong thing. Jayne had probably witnessed every single moment of Simon’s missteps since they’d arrived. It was fair of him to assume Simon was going to say something stupid. “Could look at me though. Might be less weird if ya did.”

Looking up at Jayne was almost as hard as taking his medical exams all over again. He lifted his gaze, heart pounding and choking on the distinct impression that something important was hanging in the balance. Jayne’s face was unexpectedly blank, eyes scanning over Simon’s expression, reading each tiny detail with an intensity that made Simon all the more flustered. That big hand had hovered near his shoulder after silencing him and now it settled, curling around the back of Simon’s neck and tugging him forward.

For a second Simon panicked. He had a terrified idea that Jayne might be looking for reciprocation and he wasn’t sure how to even go about that, let alone know if he was ready for it. Jayne’s grip merely tugged him into his orbit again, close enough that the big man could lower his head into Simon’s neck. Simon shuddered, surprised by the gesture as Jayne planted a warm kiss below his left ear, then let him go. He grinned down at Simon, who stared up at him in bewildered silence.

“Gonna go jerk off.” Jayne announced with a cocky grin and Simon jumped as Jayne slapped his ass with a sharp _smack_. “ _Fuck_ that was hot.” And with that he was gone. He didn’t close the door to the infirmary after himself, whistling a merry tune as he vanished. Simon stared at the wake he’d left before numbly turning to the ruined counter top.

                “ _What was that_?” He whispered into the empty silence left behind Jayne. He didn’t get an answer. He didn’t really expect one.


End file.
